


Music Box

by smallworld



Category: None - Fandom, ramdom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 02:03:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4985791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallworld/pseuds/smallworld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I am wasted. Put into the black forever with all of the other broken ends and pieces similar to me. We are pieces, bits that can easily be replaced</p>
            </blockquote>





	Music Box

I am wasted. Put into the black forever with all of the other broken ends and pieces similar to me. Toys, rusted, broken, and stripped of joy. Trying. Trying. Trying to find the Music Box we belong to, the one that we make go. But we are pieces, bits that can easily be replaced. Music Boxes can fix themselves, find new pieces, but pieces only have one Music Box. Box. Box. The Ballerina spins round and round and round and round and round. She must be sick. Sick. Dizzy from the spinning. Always either trapped inside the Box or put on display, spinning and spinning, as the Box sings for whoever winds it up. She is always working, preparing, waiting, for her next dance. She must work hard, but she at least get’s a moment worth of fresh air. She can never be replaced. She is forced to spin and spin and spin until she is so worn that there is nothing left.  
Worn and replaced.  
We would make a great pair. But the Box leaves no choice. It fills the inky nothing with piece after fractured piece, twirling and swirling around the constricting binds, the very same ones that chain the Ballerina to the Box. That vicious, heartless, God-be-damned Box.  
Serenading it’s master to sleep, then dirtying its hands. The Box. The Music Box. The Ballerina hunches over steel and porcelain in anguish. She must be perfect.  
For the box.  
But she is not. An so she hobbles to her rotating pedestal with her bleeding, broken feet, and prepares for her final dance, before the Music Box is finished. Finished? No, it forever sings . . . sings . . . sings. Taunting and mocking me with every leering note.  
Ping  
Pang  
Ping  
Ping  
It sings, over and over and over. No escape from it’s never ending cycle of sardonic notes. But the Ballerina cherishes it, in her used and twisted mind. She warns herself not to love her cage, but she must, or die of terror. And to the dear Ballerina of my one and only Box, a last word. Should your broken body crumble to less than the subservient maiden the box clutches onto and is discarded, my whorling, twirling pitch eternity is a safe haven for all dead and dying things.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so my Dad had started drinking again these past two weeks (which is the equivilant of him attempting suicide because his liver is so far gone and he was drinking while taking his medications. Not to mention that he had stopped takng his antidepressants.) I found out three days ago when my stepmom had to call 911 because he had lost consiousness and I was in the living room with my brother, making sure that he was still breathing and that he wasn't dead yet. He was loopy for the past few days before this, but I thought that that was because of the new medication they had put him on. My mom picked me up from the hospital before I got to see him (because they hadn't let anyone in at the time) and so I haven't seen him since he was carted off in the ambulance and I have barely talked to him. The next day I had a Marching Band Competition and Homecomeing and the day after that I slept on and off the whole day, being lazy and trying to destress from all of the things that happened. So I am really sorry to unload all of this on you guys, but I am in Study Hall, not doing the homework that I needed to get yesterday, and I just needed to let it out by writing this. He is ok and is going to be ok, besides the fact that he may have shortened the already short string of his remaining lifespan. If you have actually read all of , then I applaude you, and promise that I won't make a habit of making such a long note. Of course, have a great day and please feel free to comment or vent with me or whatever. Mwah!!


End file.
